Thanksgiving 2011

We drove down to the beach on Tuesday night. About halfway there, James turned to me and said, "I think I'm getting a cold," and I cruelly rebuffed him. "DUDE, I can't hear Dan Savage talking about erectile dysfunction in Furries when you are blathering on about your respiratory health, can it please wait until after the Savage Love podcast is over?" And James was all, "Maybe it's just allergies."

But it was not allergies, judging by the grayish pallor that had come over his face when we woke up Wednesday morning, and by Wednesday afternoon, James's real, actual, authentic cold had taken up residence in Lulu's chest. Which meant that Wednesday night was marked by a lot of screaming. And snot. And a trip to the store at 4 AM for one of those snot-sucker thingies so that she could eat without suffocating and fall asleep so that I could sleep and JESUS GOD WHY IS MY THROAT DOING THAT HURTING THING? Get thee behind me, Satan cold! Don't you come knocking 'round this door!


That picture, above, was taken at 2:20 AM. But it also could have been taken at 4, 5, 6, and 7 AM, which are all the times that Lu woke up screaming, and are, ergo, all the times I woke up, too.

As I lay there trying to nurse my screaming baby, I thought about last Thanksgiving. James and I rented a cabin waaaaay out in the mountains and I was so excited to do the rustic thing, until he mentioned casually after coming in from unloading the car that he had seen a bear in the woods near the cabin. I was pregnant and hormonal and it was dark and I was frightened, and so I kind of overestimated the threat of the bear and underestimated the solidness of the cabin walls. Every time I got up to go to the bathroom I cringed as I passed the dark, curtainless window of the main room, thinking that if I looked up at it, I would see a bear staring back at me. He would raise a furry paw and draw it, slowly, across his throat. And I had to use the bathroom a lot because, pregnant. After about my 50th trip past the window of doom I lay in bed and cried, thinking this was probably the worst way to spend Thanksgiving Eve ever, in a state of bottomless fear of being torn apart and eaten.

But this was worse that the threat of being torn apart and eaten. My eyelids felt like sandpaper. Finally, at 8, my aunt took pity on me, came in, and took the baby. I burbled thank you and then fell promptly asleep. And had a dream about bears. And also that James had three secret love children by a woman named Alexa Chung, like the model but not the model, including a pair of boy-girl twins. Of course he would leave me, I remember thinking in the dream. I only have one of his children. And everybody knows twins have powers.

But now! Now I have had a restorative three hours of sleep, and I am in a better frame of mind. The baby is feeling better, and my burgeoning cold has at least spared my tastebuds and appetite, so I am ready for delicious turkey feast. And because I am sick, I have been ordered out of the kitchen and do not have to do a thing to help with the preparing of it! I am overcome by Thanksgiving spirit. I am grateful for Nyquil, for my sister, who is watching Lulu at my parents' house so that I can putter around and blog, for not having to work for three more days! I am grateful for whatever childbirth did to my body to make it so I can be this grateful after only getting three hours of sleep. I am also grateful for Rainbow Rowell's Attachments, the perfect holiday weekend bathtub book, my aunt's jetted spa bathtub in which to the read aforementioned book, my purple Uggs, my Klout score, and that Sarah Pekkanen followed me on Twitter, despite the fact that I sort of made fun of her book for featuring a tumor in it in a recent post. Sarah Pekkanen, please know that I bought both your books in hardback and I am poor. I think that says it all. Thank you for further helping my Klout score.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! May it be full of all the turkey, Uggs, and Nyquil that your heart desires. And no illness! Or bears!